


when all is said and done

by scribblscrabbl



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Steve and Thor are bffs, Steve/Tony if you squint, loki is a thief/con artist, loki is clever and does what he wants, steve is a bamf fbi agent, there be angst, tony is tony, white collar inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:24:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblscrabbl/pseuds/scribblscrabbl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki's a criminal and a wanted man, and still all Thor can see is his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> White Collar AU of sorts. Partly written, I must admit, to satisfy my suit kink.

"Mr. Odinson, your father's on line two." Katie switches the call before Thor can get a word in edgewise and he wonders darkly where her loyalties really lie.

"Thor," he hears the breeze whistling at the other end; his father must be out on the patio, smoking those cigars his mother hates to smell inside the house, "your mother hasn't been feeling well today, the doctor says she must have caught a bug on our trip to The Hamptons, so I need you to go to that charity fundraiser tonight. We're in need of some good press right now."

He sounds weary, older than his fifty-five years, and Thor feels a pang of guilt about not having done more to mitigate the backlash from the scandal that rocked Asgard Corp a month ago. Its CFO, his father's closest friend, embezzling funds from their shareholders and funneling them to an offshore account to indulge the whims of his two mistresses no less. The feds had handcuffed him, led him out of the building, and the reporters had been ready, like sharks swarming at the scent of blood. Their only saving grace was Stark Industries. Tony had stepped up to the plate, vouched for them with his typical air of nonchalance and charmed the media enough that the clamor died down to indiscreet whispers, long enough for them to batten down the hatches before the trial.

Thor swivels his chair around to face the window and stares at skyline spread out before him like it's his for the taking. He used to think he had a right to all of it. Now he's no longer so sure.

"Yes, father."

"Your mother says bring a date. That grad student in astrophysics you brought to dinner. She was a lovely girl. Smart girl."

He picks up a pen and scribbles her name onto the margins of a notepad. Jane Foster. They met last Thursday for lunch, at a hole-in-the-wall diner she had raved about until he relented, then made him admit the food was delicious and that he was a snob. (He countered that it was hardly his fault for being brought up on French linens, five-course meals, and fastidious table etiquette).

"I'll ask her. It's short notice, though, she might have plans."

"I'm sure you'll come up with a way to persuade her."

Thor glances at his watch. "All right, I'll do my best. Tell mother to stay in bed and get some rest. There's an auction at Christie's I need to get to."

"Christie's? What would you want from there?"

He bristles a little at his father's tone. "What? I can't have an appreciation for art?"

"Of course that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then." He knows he's being difficult but he wants his father to acknowledge the elephant in the room, the name he refuses to say out loud for fear that his regret will take on too solid a shape to bear.

"Nothing. I meant nothing by it."

Thor wants to punch the window and feel his knuckles break against the glass. Instead he says goodbye and hangs up, standing to pull on his suit jacket. He sets his palms against the desk for a moment, watching them shake a little then still, before walking out the door.

After he checks in at Christie's it takes him no time at all to find the painting, displayed in the center of the gallery with a modest frame that makes it look like it could belong anywhere, even when the name and the starting bid attached to it suggest otherwise. 

He waits for the crowd to disperse a little before stepping forward and standing before it, close enough to touch. The painted scene is so familiar he's instantly submerged in his memories, caught in the undertow of sounds, smells, and sights that fool him for a moment into thinking he can gain back what he's lost. 

_He's seated at the edge of the terrace so that only part of him is shaded by the awning, the other part bathed in the morning sun. There's a freshly-baked croissant on his plate, and strawberry jam, next to a cup of café au lait. His brother is seated across from him, leaned in close to tell him about a painting by Vincent van Gogh of this very place, to ask him to imagine a single lantern illuminating the terrace and a starry sky that holds no darkness, only light._

When he resurfaces his chest is aching, lungs straining as he sucks in a breath and finds himself alone. Movement out of the corner of his eye makes him turn, but there's no one there. He drags a hand across his face and walks away without a glance at the other pieces of art.

He wins the painting at a bid of thirty million dollars.

*

He meets Steve at Nick's for their routine Thursday lunch, where they slide into the corner booth and Charlene winks at them and gets them their usual. Tony calls them the two most predictable people on earth but he doesn't mind. In fact, he relishes in being a creature of habit, whether it's taking his shoes off when he gets to the office or arguing with Steve about the finer points of college football over egg salad and pecan pie.

"Saw your picture in the Times today. I forgot how photogenic you are." Steve grins as he folds the wrapper of his straw into an accordion.

"Says the man voted 'sexiest special agent' by the staff interns." Thor had been beside himself with childish glee when Nat leaked the information a month ago to Steve's utter dismay. It's exactly the kind of thing that makes Steve flush beet red and glare like they've maligned his virtue. Thor's made it a point to bring it up at least once a week.

"You'll never let me live that down, will you," he mutters darkly, color rising predictably in his cheeks.

"Probably not, no."

Charlene comes by with their food and two other orders balanced expertly along the length of her arm.

"That never fails to impress me," Thor says, just to see her smile because in any other life he might've let her steal his heart.

She sets down the plates, hair coming loose from her braid, eyes bright and warm.

"Darlin', you ain't see nothin' yet," she says, flashing that smile. "Enjoy, boys."

"So," Steve squirts ketchup onto the side of his plate, "how's your dad holding up? He's taking it pretty hard, huh." 

"He's doing all right. It'll blow over when the next scandal hits. It always does. PR's been a goddamn nightmare, though."

"If there's anything I can do—" Steve looks guilty, like he's the one causing them so much grief when he was only doing his job. And it's what he does best, Thor knows. The youngest agent to lead an investigative team since the FBI established its white-collar crime division.

"You can come to our dinner party Saturday night. Mother's inviting her bridge friends, who coincidentally all have daughters she's dying for you to meet." Thor smiles cheerfully. "You might as well get it over with. You know she's relentless."

Steve's expression shifts from horror to resignation. "She'll have to give up one of these days."

"I wouldn't count on it." 

They lapse into a companionable silence for a while amid the lull of conversation around them.

"I know this is supposed to be our work-free zone," Steve finally says, "but I figured the sooner I tell you the better."

Thor frowns and watches Steve pull a file from his briefcase. "I thought you already closed the case on Barry.”

"It's not about Barry." Steve sets the file down on the table and his hand on top of it. "We started tracking a forger who gave us the slip a couple years ago after he made a killing off counterfeit bonds. At the time we couldn't prove it anyway so we didn't pursue it. Now the word is he's made a name for himself across Europe, stealing art, antiquities, artifacts, anything with a hefty price tag. He's wanted in five countries, but he's clever, really clever, and he's racked up an impressive list of aliases. He disappeared off the radar about a month ago. Two days ago he popped up again. In Manhattan. We're trying to figure out his mark."

Thor's still frowning. Unease creeps up his spine. "What does this have to do with me?"

Steve says nothing, just opens the file and pushes it forward, eyes shuttered, jawline tense.

Thor looks down at the pictures, taken candidly from every angle, each more incriminating than the last, and grips the table's edge with numb fingers, feeling his world slide off its axis. In the end he finds enough breath to utter the name he never had the heart to bury.

" _Loki_."

*

Steve rides with him back to the office because he agrees to answer a few questions, even though Steve’s fully aware that his knowledge of the last five years of his brother's life sums up to nothing. 

He had been unrelenting at first in his quest to find Loki, determined to scour the corners of the earth to bring him home. And then somewhere along the way he'd stopped, knowing that there was no finding him if he didn't want to be found. (He had always won their games of hide-and-seek, appearing only when Thor began to rage and sulk with a smile that never revealed his secrets.)

Now Thor wonders if he should've tried harder, if Loki had only been testing his patience, his faith that whatever came between them wouldn't keep them apart forever.

He stares out the window at the crowds and he's struck by the thought that Loki might be one of those faces, yards from his reach when up until today he'd thought his brother unreachable. And suddenly he wants to leap out of the car and snatch up this chance he's been gifted to find him, run the length of the city if he has to because it's a hell of a lot shorter than the length of the world.

"We're here, sir." John looks at him through the rear view mirror with a little concern, knowing that his silence is usually an indication of something amiss.

"Thank you, John." He smiles with as much sincerity as he can muster before stepping out and walking beside Steve through the heavy double doors.

He tells Katie to hold all his calls, then closes his office door tightly behind them and heads straight to the minibar to pour himself a drink. 

"Thor." He looks up to see Steve approach his newly acquired painting, hung in isolation in the center of the left wall. "Is this what I think it is?"

"I got it at Christie's a couple days ago. I've never had much of an eye for art, but this one's something special, isn't it?"

"It must've cost you a fortune." Steve's fingers reach out, then halt an inch away from the frame. "Ten? Twenty mil?"

"Thirty."

"Jesus." He stares at the painting for a moment longer before turning around, eyebrows knitted. "You said the auction was two days ago?"

Thor nods and brings the glass of scotch to his lips, then freezes. _He disappeared off the radar about a month ago. Two days ago he popped up again. In Manhattan._

"No." He denies it out loud even when he knows it can't be coincidence, the timing and the motive too perfect. (He'd banked silently on the hope that Loki had come back for a life that was never his intent to forsake. That Loki had come back for him.)

"Thor—" Steve starts and stops, no doubt trying to make honesty sound a little less accusing. "He's not the man you used to know. People change, and sometimes it's out of your hands."

Thor drains his scotch in one go and sets the tumbler on the counter, knuckles ghastly white around the glass.

"I can't do this today." He closes his eyes, heart still rebelling against the thought that Loki would use him as a means to an end. "I need some time."

"Okay." Steve suddenly looks a little unsure, a little helpless. "He couldn't have known you'd be the one to buy it."

"No, he couldn't," Thor says, even though he knows Loki counted on it. He had always been too sentimental for his own good.

Steve walks out and pauses at the door to say, "I'm sorry," before closing it behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

He doesn't make an effort to call Steve in the next few days except to text him a reminder about Saturday's dinner party at his mother's insistence. He doesn't feel guilty even though he thinks he should, if only because with Steve he's rarely had qualms about speaking his mind. He imagines Steve's the only one who's never disappointed him, and their friendship one of the few reassurances he has that some things in life are certain.

But with Loki in the picture it's another matter entirely, just like it's always been. He and Steve never saw eye-to-eye but they tolerated each other for Thor's sake, reaching a fragile truce that only made Thor uncertain of where to tread. Already he feels his loyalties torn, his instinct to protect his brother warring with his trust in Steve. It's no longer about doing the right thing, only about doing what he thinks he'll be able to live with.

He gets to his parents' sprawling estate a good hour early on Saturday, wandering through the halls aimlessly, shirt half-tucked, cuffs unbuttoned, until he finds himself at the door of his brother's bedroom, only opened now when the furniture needs dusting. He pushes it open and steps one foot inside. The curtains are tightly drawn, bed neatly made. The desk that used to be buried under open books is now immaculate, desolate in its corner. He imagines for a moment that Loki's seated there, immersed in the words of immortal men, long elegant hands marking his favorite passages and lips moving unconsciously to a tireless rhythm.

And then he stops himself, closing the door abruptly because he knows he's not doing himself any favors by wishing for a thing he can no longer have.

When he gets downstairs most of the guests are already there. He exchanges a few cordial words with his father's colleagues, compliments his mother's bridge friends as they bat their eyelashes at him, and then finds Steve, who's not mingling with any of the beautiful, single women, but engaged in a heated debate with Tony.

"Cut the guy some slack? He embezzled ten million dollars over the course of ten months!"

"I'm just saying, in the grand scheme of things—Thor! Now that you've graced us with presence, my night is complete. Great party. Great booze." Tony claps him on the back and raises his glass. 

"I'm surprised you've managed to escape my mother's clutches." Thor raises his eyebrows at Steve as he grabs a glass of champagne off a passing tray.

"I took it upon myself to rescue him." Tony smiles brightly. "Told the lovely lady he was with that his ex called to say he's the baby's daddy."

Thor snorts into his drink. 

Steve glares. "I still think you could've come up with something a little less—dramatic."

"It did the trick, didn't it?"

"A little too well."

"No supermodel on your arm tonight, Tony? Or Pepper? She's finally quit and fled the country, hasn't she."

Tony tries to look hurt. "She would never. She loves me too much. Plus, the perks of running a multi-billion dollar corporation are pretty fantastic. Her words, not mine."

"Yea, fantastic until you find out you've had a criminal on your payroll for the last twenty years." Thor tries to wash out the bitterness in his mouth with another swig of champagne.

"Maybe he was going through a mid-life crisis." It's Tony's way of showing his empathy and Thor almost smiles.

"A normal person would just buy a motorcycle." Steve sounds highly skeptical.

Tony rolls his eyes. "Yes, because clearly there's a standard for what constitutes a normal mid-life crisis."

"Well, fine, say you're right. It still doesn't justify what he did." 

Thor looks from one man to the other and has to contain a long-suffering sigh. He remembers the day he introduced them at the Stark Expo, and Steve ten minutes in looking like he wanted to kiss and throttle Tony at the same time. A year later they're still locked in the same dance at arm's length, neither willing to break apart or close the distance, and Thor imagines it's pride, fear, or a little bit of both that keeps them there (that if they ever dared, they would never look back).

"Thor, what do you think?" Steve's looking at him expectantly, as if it couldn't be clearer that Tony's being an idiot.

"I know better than to take sides." He raises his hands in surrender. "I'm going out to get some fresh air. Don't cause trouble while I'm gone."

The minute he turns to leave he's waylaid by his mother's friend Meryl, who was a hippie in her day and once tried to convince him of the health benefits of magic mushrooms. 

"Thor, you're more handsome every time I see you. And taller. Or maybe I'm just getting shorter. Old age does that to you, you know." 

Despite her eccentric ways she's still his favorite by far.

"Shorter, but just as beautiful." He bends down and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

"Flatterer." There's a dimple in her right cheek that makes him imagine she used to be a looker when she was younger with men lined up at her door. "And what a wonderful party. Your mother always knows how to entertain. So many interesting people here. You know what I miss, though."

She touches his arm and leans in like it's a secret they'll keep between them. 

"Your brother at the piano. Oh, he played so beautifully I felt like I could float away on a cloud."

Thor's stunned into silence by her memory, the candidness of her recollection.

"Oh, don't let an old lady's nostalgia ruin your evening. You go on. I may try to locate more of those little cucumber sandwiches." 

She wanders away and suddenly he feels suffocated, weaving his way through the crowd until he escapes through the French doors to the patio, then sucks in a violent breath. The sounds of the party in full swing waft easily on the night air from the family room where the baby grand piano still stands in one corner, bare of sheet music and silent now that no one plays it. He and his father never learned, and his mother--she gets close enough to run her fingers along the edges before she snatches them away, as if in danger of nurturing a hope she should've long cast aside. 

(Sometimes, though, when he finds her out in the garden tending to her roses, she tells him stories that he remembers like dreams, about him and his brother as children. Running wild in summer to catch fireflies in glass jars. Play-fighting with wooden swords that won them battle scars and glory.)

He takes off his sports jacket and discards it on the back of a patio chair before walking down to the fountain. He and Loki made a habit of throwing pennies over their shoulder to see whose would eventually land in the palm of the angel at the top, outstretched to offer rewards for their virtues and penance for their sins.

He dips his fingers into the water. The coins have long been removed, the fountain cleaned every winter so it looks like new come spring.

"None of the pennies ever did reach its intended target, did it." 

He stops breathing for the time it takes him to turn around. Loki's standing two long strides away, looking for all the world like he never left, and for a moment Thor wonders if his imagination might be so cruel as to conjure so convincing a vision.

"So surprised to see me? Surely Steve's told you all there is to know." A smile plays at the corners of Loki's mouth. "I have to say I'm flattered the Feds have gone through so much trouble when all I've done is cross the border."

He takes a step forward and the shadows glide across his face to pool in the hollows of his cheekbones. Thor's throat is tight with words, every question, plea, and accusation he's collected over the last five years that would bury them both if he wasn't careful.

"Why now?" It's only after he asks that he imagines the answers he once needed no longer matter with Loki here. What he wants now, however impossible, is to find a way to convince his brother to stay.

"I considered making a grander entrance," Loki says, ignoring his question, "livening up the party a little, but I figured father wouldn't be too pleased with me, especially after that debacle with Barry. Shocking, really, considering how fastidiously he's cultivated his reputation." 

His words are heavy with disdain but his eyes give nothing away.

"He misses you." Thor closes the distance between them and studies Loki's face, lets the familiarity of it comfort and devastate him equally.

"A pitiful half-truth." 

He brings his hand up to touch, seek the warmth his brother’s words are sorely missing, but drops it in mid-reach. "I've missed you."

There's a slight give in the hard line of Loki's mouth, an indication that he believes this if nothing else.

"I'm no longer the brother you used to know." And just for a second he looks vulnerable, as if he might yet be won over by Thor's sentiment. "I'm a thief, a con man. People who trust me always end up regretting it. What makes you think you're any different?"

The last question is meant to wound, to slice close enough to the heart to make Thor heed its warning. Instead he grabs Loki's forearm and pulls him even closer, tightening his fingers until he feels bone, ensuring the pale skin will bruise by morning. (Even as children they were capable of cruelty in their own ways.)

Loki hisses in pain but doesn't try to wrench free, and Thor raises his other hand to grip Loki's jaw so he can't look away.

"Tell me I'm no different, that it's what you truly think, and I'll let you go." Even he's not sure if he means for now, or forever. 

Loki watches him, eyes dark, lips parted around shallow breaths, and says nothing. He loosens his hold and Loki pulls away, rubbing his arm and looking towards the house.

"I think I've overstayed my welcome. Remind mother for me that blue suits her better."

He leaves and Thor makes no move to stop him. The smell of him lingers in the air, an old, familiar mix of sandalwood and honey that keeps Thor in place a while longer to remember again.

*

_He's in a wide clearing that stretches for miles before sloping upward to meet the horizon at a point too far away to fathom. Thick clouds roll in from the edges of the earth, heavy with rain and thunder. Loki stands facing the oncoming storm, hands clasped behind his back, turning only when Thor calls his name._

_"We'll be drenched soon, let's go home."_

_"Home? Where's your sense of fun?" Loki smiles, mouth stretched wide._

_When Thor tries to grab his shoulder he disappears, reappearing a few feet away. Disappears, reappears, disappears, every time Thor tries to catch him, his laughter carried away on the wind._

_"Stop playing games!" Thor has to yell to be heard over the rain. He doesn't remember when it started to fall._

_Loki appears in front of him, eyes gleaming with mischief. He blinks and suddenly they're surrounded by warmth, in a bed he doesn't recognize draped in silk sheets cool against his skin._

_"I know which game you really want to play." Loki's straddling his hips, the fingertips of one hand pressed against his chest._

_He feels a tug around his wrists and watches pale silver thread wind around them, pulling his arms taut along the headboard._

_"I know your mind, Thor. Your deepest secrets and your darkest regrets. I know them all."_

_Then without warning Loki leans down and kisses him, so forcefully, with more teeth than lips, that he tastes blood when Loki pulls away, shuddering at the sweet tang of it on his tongue. Before he can decide whether he wants to protest or plead, a knife appears in Loki's hand, the blade curved as wickedly as his mouth, the unearthly glow of its steel mirrored in his eyes. He sets it tenderly against Thor's chest, pushing until it slices through the fabric of his shirt and meets bare skin, poised to take his heart._

_"You would do well to remember, dear brother, that I own you."_

He wakes at the crack of dawn drenched in sweat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of it makes Thor doubt that this is the brother he had and lost, the face in the memories he keeps closest to his heart.

"I have Mr. Rogers here to see you." Katie's voice is sweeter than usual and Thor has a hunch she's currently making eyes at Steve, who seems to make her swoon every time he shows up at Thor's office and calls her Miss Stevens.

Thor looks at the clock and sighs. "Let him in."

It's just about lunchtime and Steve knows he never schedules anything important in the two-hour block after noon if he can help it. Steve also knows he has a harder time lying to him than to anyone else. He figures if there's a downside to being friends with someone for so long, then this is it.

"I brought lunch." Steve walks in, careful to shut the door, and sets two paper bags on his desk that feel like a peace offering even though they're not really fighting and Thor's the one who's being difficult. "You can't keep avoiding me, you know."

"I was succeeding until you showed up." Thor gives a wry smile.

Steve takes a seat and runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep drawn-out breath.

"Look, you're between a rock and a hard place, I know that. Hell, I can't imagine walking in your shoes right now, but this isn't about taking sides, Thor. If there's anything you're not telling me that might be relevant to Loki's case, I'm gonna have to hold you liable for impeding a federal investigation."

Thor knew their friendship would inevitably take a backseat to Steve's job and he understands. It's what makes Steve who he is, his unshakeable sense of right and wrong. From the moment they met, he could tell Steve was a good man, a better man than most, including him, and he takes comfort in the thought. 

Steve leans forward then, eyes softening. "You can't protect him, Thor. Not this time. And if you try, he'll only take you down with him. I won't stand by and let that happen."

He can still feel steel biting into the skin above his heart, Loki's mouth on his, claiming with a vengeance, and he has to curl his hands into a fist to keep them from shaking.

"He's my brother," he says, when he knows it's much more complicated than that. 

As children they made everything a competition and yet they rarely fought. Even when they did they were never angry for long, always gravitating towards each other to reattach at the hip, like living magnets, their mother liked to say. As they grew up, they inevitably grew apart, Loki often buried in books and Thor at football practice, or baseball practice, or soccer practice. And still there were nights when he crawled into Loki's bed because he slept better there when he was exhausted. They saw less of each other but Loki still reserved his best smiles for Thor, the ones that made him think whatever time might alter, they would remain the same if only for each other. 

Then something changed when they left home for college, as if their world widened and suddenly they questioned their place in it. Half the time they clung to the affection from their childhood. The other half they skirted each other in wary circles with little to say. Then came one night when he returned home after taking Sarah out, a girl who studied art, with free-flowing hair and small hands that fit nicely into his, and Loki cornered him on the stairs, growling that he smelled like her before kissing him with punishing force, hands curled in his shirt like he'd send them both to hell. And Thor relented without a word, learned the taste of Loki's mouth for the first and only time, stifled by the heat and the dark.

Only after the truth of Loki's adoption tore their family apart did he bring himself to acknowledge the ways in which he'd come to love his brother.

"Thor." 

He starts at the sound of Steve's voice and blinks, remembering where he is. Steve's watching him with a mix of concern and frustration, teeth gnawing at his lower lip.

"I'm gonna trust you to do the right thing. Just like I've always trusted you." 

Thor imagines they're both afraid Steve's setting himself up for disappointment, and says nothing for a while. He looks to his left at the painting, remembering how Loki left last night, like he'd come with a purpose only to unexpectedly lose his way.

"We all have people in our lives we'd take a bullet for," he finally says, as both a confession and a reminder.

And because they're both the kind of people who wear their hearts on their sleeves, Steve's lips twist into a smile that's equal parts grief and nostalgia.

"Yes," he agrees, and then there's nothing left to say, so he stands up and leaves.

An hour later Thor's thumbing through Stark Industries' newest batch of blueprints delivered to his desk that morning when Katie buzzes his line again.

"If it's Rogers, tell him I already ate his lunch." 

"Um, no. He says he's your brother," she replies, then laughs a little breathily, and Thor frowns. 

"Let him in."

Loki walks in a minute later, smoothing non-existent wrinkles on the tie of his three-piece suit.

"How did you get past security?"

"It's amazing what you can achieve with a smile." He slides into the chair opposite Thor in one smooth motion, eyes devious and bright, the way they always were when he charmed his way out of trouble as a boy. (He could gracefully, shamelessly persuade Thor of anything with those eyes.)

Now in daylight Thor can see how much Loki's changed, and how little. His face is thinner, hair long enough to brush his shoulders. He seems exceedingly more comfortable in his skin, and more beautiful for it, dangerously so. Yet none of it makes Thor doubt that this is the brother he had and lost, the face in the memories he keeps closest to his heart. Suddenly he's wary of what Loki might want from him and how easily he'll hand it over.

"I take it you saw Steve this morning?"

"You shouldn't be here."

Loki smiles like he finds Thor's concern naïve but endearing. 

"I think I'm well within my rights to pay my brother a visit."

"Why are you here, Loki?" Thor's shortage of patience has always been at odds with his brother's infinite capacity for it.

It's then that Loki turns to the painting and studies it impassively before standing up and approaching it. He traces the edge of the frame with one finger, hair falling forward to obscure his profile.

"I was there again, two years ago. On a warm evening with a clear sky, just like this."

He tucks his hair behind his ear, allowing Thor to see the sincerity showing beautifully in the soft curve of his mouth.

"It's yours if you want it," Thor offers quietly, to make it easy on the both of them. And if he's honest with himself, he knows there's no use trying to keep Loki if he never intended to stay.

"It's a shame then that I've already promised it to someone else." 

The words are a slap in the face, nearly hard enough to convince him that he was never any different. Then Loki's jaw clenches, smile turning ugly.

"Johann Schmidt. I'm sure you've heard about him from Steve."

Thor frowns. "No. Should I have?"

Loki glances at him, eyes unreadable, before returning to the painting as if it holds the story he's about to tell.

"He's caused the government a lot of grief the last few years. Arms trafficking mostly, but he dabbles in extortion and counterfeiting. And he runs a meticulous operation. He's never given the Feds probable cause to lay a finger on him, or touch him with a ten-foot pole. The closest they came was inspecting a warehouse in Queens off an anonymous tip. Turned out it was rigged with explosives. It killed one agent and injured three others."

Thor's never been as perceptive as Loki but even he can make an educated guess at how the story will unfold from here. 

"Five years ago when I was still a kid trying to find my way, a friend convinced me to help him with a job stealing a quarter of a million worth of counterfeit euros. It was a drop in the ocean, one percent of what was printed, but to Schmidt it was still a debt to be paid. I imagine it rankled, the thought that we got away with it, at least for the time it took him to find us. When he did, he killed my friend and let me go. He wasn't being merciful, he was playing God."

Loki falls silent for a moment as Thor's lunch roils sickly in his stomach, his fingers cold and numb around the armrest of his chair. He remembers how easy it was for them as children to make the promise that they'd always protect each other, the little they understood of the world's indifference towards good intentions.

"I didn't hear from him for years but I wasn't stupid enough to think he'd forgotten about me. Sure enough he reappeared a month ago to collect his payment. I expected a bullet in the head at best. At worst, well, he likes making people suffer, I'll put it that way. But he didn't want my blood. He'd heard about me in—certain circles, the particular skills I had, and he didn't want to get rid of me just yet."

Thor stands up abruptly to pace the length of the office, as if that'll make him feel less caged and less useless. He shrugs off his suit jacket and throws it on his chair.

"Why this painting? Out of everything in the world you could get for him, why this?" he asks, frustration creeping in even though it's not about the painting, it's about Loki and why Schmidt chose him of all people to toy with.

Something flickers in Loki's eyes too quickly for him to catch.

"He took the time to show me the art he's amassed over the years. Primarily European, all painted by masters. Gauguin, Monet, Raphael, Rembrandt." There's a perverse sort of appreciation in his voice. "It's likely one of the largest private collections in the world. As you can guess, some of it he didn't have to pay a penny to acquire. He said he's had an eye on this one for quite some time." Loki tilts his head and stares at the painting, backing away slowly until his thighs bump into the edge of the desk. "He has a good eye, doesn't he?"

Thor walks over to join him and, with their shoulders touching, takes a moment to preserve whatever might still be theirs.

"What happens when this isn't enough?" What he's really asking is how he's supposed to keep Loki safe, renew that promise he never willingly broke.

Loki turns to him with a smile that reminds him they're no longer children. 

"I have a way of disappearing when I don't want to be found."

Thor brings his hand up to curve his fingers under Loki's chin, compelled to touch, to claim the one thing in the world that keeps breaking his heart. He brushes his thumb over Loki's mouth and tries to reconcile the man in front of him with the brother he once knew.

Loki's eyes are half-lidded, skin heated under his hand. He remembers sharply the taste of Loki in the dark, sweeter than sin all the way down his throat, and he wants it now, again and again until he has Loki pliant and shaking in his hands, unable and unwilling to leave.

Then his phone rings. And rings.

He reaches over to pick it up.

"What is it." He barely recognizes the sound of his own voice.

"Mr. Stark is on line one."

"Tell him I'll call him back."

He hangs up but Loki's already walking towards the door.

"Wait. Whatever you need to do with the painting, I'm coming with you."

Loki pauses before he turns the doorknob. "Tell Steve I have something he wants, and we'll take it from there."

He frowns at the second mention of Steve's name, slightly irked at the thought of the two people at the polar ends of his life knowing something he doesn't. "Where are you staying? How can I reach you?" 

"Check your pocket." Loki flashes a smile and taps two fingers against his heart before walking out.

Thor presses a hand against his breast pocket and then pulls out one of his own business cards. On the back is a New York number scrawled in pen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He senses the wedge Loki’s driven between them, not one they can’t overcome but it bothers him just the same.

He cancels his three o'clock meeting and calls Steve's office.

"Rogers."

"Do you have time to talk?" Thor pinches the bridge of his nose and thinks he needs a drink, or a time machine to go back a few years when it used to be so much simpler.

"Thor." Steve sounds surprised. "Yeah, sure, why don't you stop by. I'm just taking care of some paperwork."

Thor has to smile a little, because it's just like Steve to treat paperwork as an essential part of his job rather than a nuisance he'd rather pass off to someone lower down the ranks.

"Okay, I'll see you soon."

He takes one more look at the painting before leaving the office, telling Katie to take the rest of the day off, and opting to walk to Steve's office rather than sit in afternoon traffic. 

Steve meets him in the lobby to escort him to his floor. They don't say much on the elevator and he senses the wedge Loki’s driven between them, not one they can’t overcome but it bothers him just the same.

When they walk through the double doors, he sees Phil typing methodically at his computer.

“Good to see you, Thor, it’s been a while,” he says without looking up or breaking his rhythm. “Steve, the files you requested are on your desk. I think you’ll find them as elucidating as you hoped.”

 _Elucidating?_ Thor mouths and Steve just shrugs and grins. 

He has yet to figure out Phil, who was assigned to Steve’s investigative team a few months ago as his right-hand man. Phil’s dedicated, that much he knows, and has a work ethic to rival Steve’s if such a thing is possible. He’s never seen Phil out of a suit and he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen him smile, but the guy has a sense of humor that sneaks up on a person and Steve already trusts him with his life, so Thor’s content to call him a friend. He figures it’s hard to come by in this line of work, when all they’re doing day in and day out is making enemies in high places.

Steve’s phone rings just as they step into his office.

“Rogers. Hey.” Steve’s eyes flit to Thor and then back to his desk. “Um, sure, that sounds great, I’m not busy. No, no, there’s no need to pick me up, I’ll meet you there. Okay, see you tomorrow.”

He hangs up and rubs the back of his neck with one hand, cheeks suspiciously flushed, and Thor raises his eyebrows.

“Hot date tomorrow?”

“No! I mean, no.” Steve drops down into his chair and shuffles a few papers around. “It was Tony. He happened to have two tickets to the game tomorrow and called to see if I wanted to go, that’s all.”

“Tony Stark asked you out on a date.” Thor’s grinning with one part glee and two parts relief.

“It’s not a date, it’s an—outing,” Steve finishes lamely, the spots of color on his cheeks darkening.

“He offered to pick you up.” Thor looks at him pointedly. “It’s a date. Although I always imagined you’d wear the pants in the relationship.”

“Thor!” Steve looks scandalized and, Thor thinks, secretly pleased.

“What? Now the two of you can finally resolve your sexual tension before it makes me or another innocent bystander spontaneously combust.”

Now Steve just looks like he wants to bury his face in his hands but he does an impressive job of collecting himself and clears his throat before opening the file on his desk. 

He frowns at the contents, then turns it and lays it out in front of Thor.

“These were taken by the security cameras at Christie’s the day of the auction.”

Thor peers at the shots. There’s no mistaking Loki, even with the low resolution and the distance. His brother’s wearing a long coat and a green scarf, one Thor remembers buying for him because it brought out the color of his eyes.

“So he was there. So what?” he asks, already on the defensive because he knows how many questions it raises and what little justification he can give in return.

“How did you know the painting would be auctioned off that day?” 

“I—” He frowns. “They mailed me a catalogue.”

“Christie’s did?”

“Probably, I don’t know.” Frustration creeps into his voice. “Katie sorts through my mail. She put it on my desk a few days before the auction.”

Steve presses his lips into a thin line, eyebrows knitted, like he’s figuring out how to be honest without driving the wedge between them even deeper.

“Maybe it’s coincidence, maybe it’s not. I just think it’s a good idea for you to take a step back and look at this from all angles.” Then Steve leans in and for a minute he’s no longer his job; he’s just Steve. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

Thor clenches his jaw and picks up one of the photos. He might be reckless and sentimental but he’s not stupid. He figures someone will get hurt in the end. The possibility that it might be him is the least of his concerns.

“Look, I came by to ask you for help. Loki’s in trouble. He turned up at my office not long after you left.”

“At your office.” Steve blinks in disbelief.

“This lunatic’s got him by the throat. He’s the one who wants the painting.”

Steve’s silent for a moment and Thor can almost see the puzzle pieces flying in his head, arranging and rearranging until they fit snugly into place. 

“Loki’s paying off a debt.”

Thor nods and rubs his jaw, suddenly feeling bone-tired.

“How am I supposed to help? You know I won’t break any laws, not only because it’s in my job description.”

“He says he has something you want, but I’ll be damned if I know what it is.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “I can’t imagine he has anything I could possibly want. Unless he’s planning to turn himself in.”

Thor frowns. He hadn’t even considered the possibility, but he imagines Loki’s clever enough to come up with a more creative solution to his problem. Then he remembers the name.

“Johann Schmidt.”

Steve tenses visibly. “What did you say?”

“Johann Schmidt. He’s the one after the painting. Do you know him?” 

Steve averts his eyes for a moment to stare intently at the stack of paperwork shoved to the corner of his desk and there’s no question he knows. It’s one of those rare, disorienting moments when they dig up a piece of their lives they’ve never shared with each other. Sitting opposite from Steve now, Thor can only think that he had his reasons.

“I told you Bucky died in the line of duty. What I didn’t tell you was—” Steve’s throat works around an emotion that makes his fingers on the desk curl into his palm, “—we’d gone to check out a warehouse off an anonymous tip. Schmidt was starting to smuggle his guns south and across the border to dip his hands into the money flowing out of the drug war. We wanted to get to him before the case got turned over to Homeland Security so we didn’t even think about it. Bucky said he’d lead half the team in first. Next thing I knew, the whole damn thing exploded in our faces. I tried to get to him. I tried. They took me off the case after that and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

Steve takes a laboured breath but his shoulders look a little straighter, like he’s finally given up some of the weight he’s carried, absolved of the guilt that was never his to bear.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to tell you,” he says and Thor’s tempted to reach over and shake some sense into him.

“You apologize too much, you know that?” Steve’s lips twitch into a smile. His fingers uncurl. “Bucky wouldn’t want you to take the blame. He would tell you you couldn’t have known, and then he would tell you to take down the son of a bitch.” 

Thor pulls out the business card from his breast pocket and slides it towards Steve.

“You’ve given me even more reason to want him locked up for a very, very long time.”

Steve looks at him then looks at the number before dialing. The phone at the other end rings twice.

“Hello, Steve.” Loki’s voice flows smoothly through the speaker. “That took you less time than I anticipated.”

“Loki. It’s—been a while.” Thor knows Steve’s making a valiant effort at being cordial for his sake.

“I take it Thor’s with you?” 

“I’m here.” There’s nothing but silence for background noise and he wonders if Loki’s in a hotel room, bag still packed in one corner so it’s ready when he is to leave another city behind.

“He tells me you want my help.”

Loki hums. “I’d call the circumstances mutually beneficial.”

“I’m listening.” Steve drums his fingers against the desk to signal his impatience.

“I’m scheduled to meet Schmidt tomorrow afternoon and I have it on very good authority that he plans to receive a shipment around the same time, incriminating enough for you to put him away for at least twenty years.”

“Okay, but unless the guns are out in the open or you tell me your source, my hands are tied.”

“I’m perfectly aware of your legal constraints, Agent Rogers,” Loki says dryly. “All you have to do is follow my lead.”

Steve pauses. “You’re asking me to take a pretty big leap of faith.” 

“I have nothing to gain from lying to you. In fact I have everything to lose. We both know Schmidt would more likely put a bullet in my head than let me go after he gets what he wants.”

This time it’s Thor curling his fingers in tightly, thinking if they let him take on Schmidt with his bare hands, he would, and it’d be his pleasure to make him beg for penance. 

“My blood wouldn’t be the first to stain his hands. But that you also know.”

The words draw out an edge in Steve’s eyes, harder and sharper than he’s ever allowed, and Thor imagines that for all his virtues, he’s still human enough to be swayed by vengeance.

“Okay, fine, I’ll follow your lead, but we’re playing by my rules.” 

“I’m in no position to argue,” Loki concedes, almost too easily, and Thor has to wonder what his brother’s really gotten them into. If it’s a game they’re playing, then Loki’s no doubt made sure he has all the right cards. “You’ll hear from me soon. It’s always a pleasure, Steven.”

Loki hangs up and Thor leaves a moment later because all they can do now is wait. Unfortunately, patience has never been his strong suit.

*

He steps into the shower as soon as he gets home, lingering until the water turns lukewarm because the day’s grime feels more persistent than usual, in his pores and under his fingernails. He scrubs his skin until it stings, then stands under the spray with his palm against the tile and lets its noise drown out the havoc in his head.

The buzzer sounds as soon as he steps out and he hastily wraps a towel around his waist, trailing water across the floorboards as he walks to the door.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me.” 

Loki’s standing in front of him a minute later, feet planted firmly beyond the threshold like he’s waiting for an invitation, resolutely ignoring his state of undress.

“You don’t have to take your shoes off,” he says but Loki does anyway and places them neatly by the door before surveying the condo.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs, running an indulgent hand over the all surfaces he encounters until he ends up at the oversized windows overlooking the river. “Almost makes me wish I stayed.”

For a moment Thor lets his imagination run away with him, farther and more freely than ever before, to an alternate world where Loki is a constancy morning and night, and his absence a childhood fear that only takes shape in dreams.

When Loki turns, his face gives no indication of regret despite his words, and Thor wonders if he’s being intentionally cruel, building up his hope only to raze it to the ground. He feels it in ruins at his feet, and then he feels heat climbing from the pit of his stomach, an impotent rage accompanied by the need to pry a surrender from Loki, whatever the cost. 

He knows to say anything would be an exercise in futility—the only arguments he’s ever won have been the ones Loki hasn’t cared to lose—so he steps forward without warning and silences Loki’s mouth with his. 

He forgets how many years it’s been, but the taste he remembers, the heat, the sweetness like a trigger that sets off a landmine beneath his feet, blowing his world sky high. Loki’s mouth opens without hesitation and he slides his tongue in to claim what he lost, fingers skirting over Loki’s throat and curling possessively around the back of his neck.

Loki groans, a needy, shameless noise, one hand reaching up to drag the towel from his hips, and then he’s returning the favor, peeling off Loki’s clothes layer by layer with single-minded purpose. They end up on the couch, sliding against each other until he’s burying his sounds into the curve of Loki’s neck, skin already damp and burning, sticking to leather.

For once Loki has nothing to say, mouth parted around shuddering breaths that ghost across Thor’s shoulder and feel like the secrets Thor’s coveted for so long. When he finally slides into Loki, so deeply that the heat bears straight down on his heart, Loki’s body arches beautifully beneath him, throat bared, eyes granting him whatever he wants, however he wants it. And he takes unapologetically, hoarding the sounds he wrings from Loki’s throat, lapping them up and swallowing them whole. 

Somewhere along the way he asks Loki to stay, a request whispered easily into Loki’s mouth, over and over again, when he knows there’s nothing easy about it. Loki just shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing the kind of regret Thor never asked to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should be one more chapter, which I expect will take much less time than this one took. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with this!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wakes up alone in his bed.

He wakes up alone in his bed, with the sheets twisted around his legs and sunlight spilling through the shutters like he’s used to, except he smells Loki on the pillows, on his skin. He closes his eyes and lets the scent lull him back to the edge of sleep, where the memories are more vivid (Loki’s hair sifting through his fingers, the balance, counterbalance of their limbs, Loki’s quiet submission until he’d flipped Thor onto his back with just the right amount of leverage and greedily taken what he wanted). Even with Loki under his hands his brother had felt elusive, as if he could be borrowed but never kept and he would make sure it stayed that way. And in the retreating darkness of his bedroom he considers the lengths Loki’s gone to reinvent himself, the ease with which he wears his new skin even when Thor can feel the anger underneath, buried in his bones.

The phone rings suddenly and his body jerks towards the sound.

“Hello?”

It’s Steve’s voice that travels through the earpiece. 

“You better come into the office. There’s been a break-in.”

*

Phil’s questioning Katie when he walks in, his office is swarming with agents, and the first thing he notices is that the painting’s gone.

“He tripped the alarm. That brought security up here. They claim they didn’t see a soul leave the building and the office was empty when they came in. The system says an Avery Smith swiped in forty minutes ago.”

Thor frowns as he digests the influx of information. “That’s the new intern.”

Steve’s eyebrows are drawn tightly, mouth set like he’s already drawn his conclusion; that he should’ve known better than to give Loki the benefit of the doubt.

“He didn’t steal the painting. I already told him he could have it,” Thor adds, even though he already knows there’s more to it.

“The guard over there said this drawer was open when he inspected the room.” Steve walks over to his desk, hand sweeping the inside as if he might’ve missed something the first time around.

Thor reaches out to grip the edge, staring at the empty space as he tries to remember where he locked up the confidential files Tony delivered to him personally.

“There were blueprints in here. Tony—he just polished up a prototype of the new drone the army requested a month ago.” He rakes a hand through his hair and sits down hard in his chair, trying to wrap his head around the consequences if the files landed in the wrong hands.

“Jesus.” Steve drags a hand over his face. “This just went from grand larceny to a threat to national security. And I was looking forward to reading the paper over a nice, hot, home-brewed cup of coffee.”

Thor flexes his hand around the drawer and stares at the empty frame on the wall, wondering if Loki’s showing them he can’t be trusted or that they need a little more faith.

“He won’t try to outrun Schmidt if he has a choice. He told us to follow his lead.”

Steve looks at him like they’re dangerously close to the point where Loki shouldn’t be given a choice.

“You trust him,” Steve says, with eyes he couldn’t lie to even if he tried.

“I don’t know. But I’m gonna take a leap of faith,” he answers, because Steve’s inherently the kind of man who wants to see the good in people and he’s not above appealing to his friend’s baser instincts.

Steve clenches his jaw, then turns to Phil. “Let’s get the NYPD on this. Tell them to put out an ABP. I wanna know the second he’s spotted and I want him followed.”

Five hours later they’re pacing the length of the conference room adjacent to Steve’s office when they get the call.

“He just boarded a train to Newark. Let’s go.” 

“I’m coming with you.” Thor grabs his jacket from the table and starts for the door.

“No. You’re not.” Steve rarely throws his weight around where Thor’s concerned. This time there’s a fear undermining the authority in his voice that nearly makes Thor concede, but only nearly.

“I’m not asking for your permission.”

Steve glares at him before grabbing his own jacket and double checking his holster.

“Fine. But under no circumstance do you get out of the car.”

“Fine.”

They don’t speak another word for the length of the car ride, Steve busy weaving through downtown traffic and Thor contemplating worst-case scenarios.

“He’s headed for the port.” Phil’s voice is tinny but clear through the bluetooth speaker.

Steve takes a sharp left towards the water, wheels screeching against asphalt. They end up by a row of warehouses with six other agents and what looks to be a quarter of the entire NYPD. Thor presses his hands into his thighs to keep them from bouncing, feeling like they’re in a movie where guns are about to start blazing and more than one person will get hurt. He imagines one warehouse burning and the rest falling in line like a forest fire that can’t be contained. 

He looks over at Steve who keeps his hands on the steering wheel for a moment, knuckle straining, before opening the door.

“Stay in the car, whatever you might see or hear, all right? You shouldn’t even be here.” 

Thor knows he’s been selfish, that he’s pushed his luck with Steve and Steve’s let him because he’s the closest thing Steve has to family. He wonders if he’ll betray that privilege when this is all over, and all he can say is, “be careful.”

He watches them enter the warehouse at the left, bracing himself for the sound of gunshots, screams, explosions, but nothing happens and the silence settles like deadweight in the pit of his stomach.

They emerge ten minutes later, unscathed, with five men in tow, handcuffed and sullen. He recognizes Schmidt from the mugshots in Steve’s file, one for every conviction he evaded. Schmidt’s face and build are neither average nor remarkable but his eyes are cruel Thor remembers, devoid of mercy, as if something long ago stripped him of his capacity for compassion.

He sees Steve, and he sees Phil, but Loki’s nowhere to be found.

He pushes the door open and steps out. The air is heavy and damp in his nose and down his throat. He waits for Steve to walk over.

“Did you find Loki? Why isn’t he here?”

Steve shakes his head. “He was in the warehouse when we went in. I don’t even know when he found the chance to slip out. But he left this.”

Steve hands over a manila envelope, no doubt holding Tony’s blueprints, and Thor takes it and grips the flap until it creases.

“And we have the painting. We’ll have to keep in evidence for a while.” Steve sounds apologetic and Thor draws a hand over his mouth in defeat. 

“Well, well, what do you know. Thor Odinson.” 

Thor turns abruptly and sees Schmidt being lead by an agent to the next car, eyes coldly calculating, smile bordering on deranged. 

“But I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? A brother’s love is a powerful thing.”

“Get him in the car.” Steve gestures sharply then lays a hand on Thor’s shoulder, fingertips pressing in.

“Don’t you want to know what your brother would’ve done to repay you for your kindness?”

Thor lurches forward. “Wait.”

Schmidt’s lips stretch wider. “I didn’t plan to kill him, you know. He was much more useful to me alive. I had my sights set on Asgard Corp, to tear it down brick by brick and then rebuild it in my own image, to orchestrate the fall and rise of an _empire_.” Ambition ignites in his eyes for a brief moment, a vision no doubt of his glorious ascension to power, and a chill sweeps through Thor’s chest. “Your brother was the key to my success, my way of getting to you, the Odinson he could never hope to be. And you know what he said to me?”

When Schmidt leans in, Thor smells smoke and lead. 

“ _I will take pleasure in watching Asgard burn_.”

*

As it turns out, Loki held up his end of the bargain, turning himself into a suspected terrorist for a better part of the day so the FBI could conveniently stumble across incriminating evidence against Schmidt while in hot pursuit of someone else entirely. Steve tells Thor it’s called an exigent circumstance, and it’s more than enough to get them an indictment and subsequent conviction.

Thor’s outwardly relieved and congratulatory, figuring the closed case will give Steve’s reputation a boost it didn’t even need. Inwardly he feels a little lost, as if he has to readjust to Loki’s absence and it’s no easier than the first time. He immerses himself in work, gets into the office at an ungodly hour and leaves after everyone else has gone home, but he makes time for Jane. He takes her out to lunch and dinner and Sunday brunch, brings her home because she’s the kind of person he could settle down with, rely on unconditionally (because even if his heart isn’t full, it’s safe).

He avoids his parents because his father always could read him too well and his mother’s eyes are a shade too close for comfort. Every corner of the house, every length of the grounds elicits a memory, and it’s too soon for nostalgia. Slowly, he goes through the motions of putting the past behind him, and it feels disconcertingly familiar. 

He meets Steve for lunch on their designated Tuesdays and Thursdays, and they don’t speak of what happened. He doesn’t thank Steve for putting his job on the line and Steve doesn’t say I told you so because they both already know.

It’s two weeks before Steve broaches the subject. Thor figures with all the curveballs life’s thrown at him he should’ve seen this one coming.

“We finally got around to authenticating the painting.” Steve clears his throat and swipes a finger through the condensation on his water glass. “Thor. It’s a forgery.”

He should’ve seen it coming. In a game where the stakes are so high, Loki never plays to break even; he plays to win.

“What do you plan to do about it?” He imagines Loki has a new identity by now, a name that to anyone else fits him just fine. 

“Well, it’s gonna be tough to find any leads. No doubt he’s left the country by now, and who knows if he’s kept the original or sold it. It’ll be near impossible to recover it if it’s off the books.”

Thor shakes his head and looks out the window, watching the flow of pedestrians for a moment then turning back when he sees nothing remarkable.

“He hasn’t sold it.”

A week after that, Steve passes him a long thin tube over half-eaten pecan pie. 

“Thought you might want to hold onto it. I pulled a few strings.”

He takes it out and unrolls it when he gets home that evening, across the dining table. His knowledge of art is limited at best and even he gets the sense that he’s looking at something exceptional, a feat of ingenuity that makes him think the deception would’ve held if Loki had just tried a little harder. Maybe he hadn’t had enough time, or maybe he wanted the satisfaction of knowing that someone would find him out and applaud him against their better judgment.

He studies it with his palms against the table, heartbeat slow and resigned, until his muscles start to cramp. And then he rolls it back up, returning it to its packaging before stowing it away in the far corner of his bedroom closet. He doesn’t hang it up and he doesn’t take it out again, but, on occasion, he dreams about walking along pebbled streets, towards a café terrace with the stars illuminating his way, and never reaches his destination before he wakes.

*

“Mr. Odinson, there’s someone here to deliver a—package.” The simultaneous uncertainty and curiosity in Katie’s voice makes him pay attention.

He straightens and grimaces, reaching over to dig his fingers into the ache in his shoulder that flares, telling him he hasn’t moved from this position since he sat down—he glances at the clock—two hours ago. 

“Send him in.”

A delivery boy, young, barely twenty, walks in with nondescript clothing and a cap tucked into the back of his jeans, looking skittish. He sets down his package, the dimensions of which unable to be mistaken for anything other than a frame, and turns on his heels to leave.

“Wait.” Thor walks over, placing his hand on the corner, hesitant, before curling his fingers in and ripping the cover. Through the tear he sees a starry sky. “Who sent you?”

“I—I don’t know.”

He pulls away the wrapping completely and discovers the card, tucked into the corner of the frame. It’s crisp and immaculate save one line of handwritten instruction that renders his question irrelevant.

_Place du Forum. Tomorrow. 8 pm._

“Where did you get the painting?”

“I—I don’t know.”

He tucks the note into his breastpocket and gives the boy a fifty for his trouble.

“Katie, tell David I’m making him acting CEO for the next few days. And get me a pilot.”

Daylight is just beginning to wane when he gets to the plaza. The sun is warm and mellow along the rooftops, the throng of tourists slow and steady because France is the kind of place where life takes on a more indolent, indulgent pace. 

Loki is already waiting when he finds his way to the café, sipping his coffee and looking like if he belongs anywhere, he belongs here.

“You’re late,” but he’s smiling, secrets as artfully concealed as ever, and yet Thor senses a window of opportunity.

“By two minutes.” He slides into the seat across the table, so small that their legs bump, and then watches Loki, undecided about what to call this. Surreal, preposterous, ironic, predictable. The adjectives fill his head until Loki speaks again.

“Did you like my gift?”

“Technically, it was mine to begin with.”

Loki looks amused. “How do you know it’s the original?”

Thor pauses. “I don’t.”

“You know the worst thing about art forgery? You can’t take credit for your work.”

Loki’s implicit confession and his nonchalance catch Thor offguard. Then he laughs, quietly and helplessly, at the absurdity of the circumstances, at how his brother’s worldview came to be so diametrically opposed to his. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Makes you realize a memory, however persistent, would never do it justice.”

Thor turns in his seat to take in the view. The lampposts have started to glow and the conversations have dimmed to suit to the evening. The sky waits patiently for the stars to appear in patterns contrary to their chaos. 

When he turns back, he sees something in Loki that reminds him of the last time they were here, of innocence and happiness and the idea that such things would last if they willed it.

“I thought I’d never hear from you again.” He keeps his words even and curls his fingers in, his self-preservation instinct kicking in. He figures he’s learned his lesson by now.

“I suppose I lacked conviction.” Loki’s mouth is steady, as if this confession isn’t more incriminating (devastating) than his last. “I didn’t know if you’d come.”

And they both know it’s a lie, half-heartedly masking the one conviction they’ll be left to share when all is said and done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea behind this chapter is borrowed from the pilot episode of White Collar. Loki's line about art forgery is also taken from the show. This fic was a fun ride for me so I hope it was for you all as well!


End file.
